Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[_Curtain._]
IN THE MORGUE
A PLAY
BY SADA COWAN
Copyright, 1920, by Stewart & Kidd Company.
All rights reserved.
IN THE MORGUE is reprinted from "The Forum" by special permission of Miss Sada Cowan. Application for right of performing IN THE MORGUE must be made to Miss Sada Cowan, The Authors' League, New York City.
IN THE MORGUE
A PLAY BY SADA COWAN
[PLACE: _In the morgue of a foreign city_.]
[SCENE: _A small almost empty room with the rear wall of gla.s.s.
Before this gla.s.s black curtains are drawn. An old man ... Caren ... sits at a low table, well forward, sorting and arranging papers, writing from time to time. A lamp upon the table, is so shaded as to concentrate the light and throws Caren's wicked face into sharp relief. The room conveys a feeling of unfriendliness, coldness and gloom. Caren is old, so old he is somewhat decrepit ... hard, shrill and tottering. His features are sharp, his fingers are as talons. He seems almost as a vulture ... perhaps for hovering too long among the unbeloved dead._]
CAREN [_calling to some one behind the black curtain_]. What was the number of that last one?
HELPER [_putting out his head_]. Thirteen. [_He disappears._]
CAREN [_writes and repeats_]. Thirteen....
VOICES [_are heard, rough and harsh, from in back of the curtains_].
Shove that stiff up! He's got more room than what's coming to him.
CAREN [_calling, without rising_]. Who is it you're moving?
VOICE. Thirteen. Any reason why he should sprawl?
CAREN. Not a bit. Shove him along.
[_The curtains part. There is a swift vision of brilliant light within, and bodies laid out upon tables of ice._]
KRAIG [_a man, scarcely more than a boy, over-wrought and hysterical, with his hands pressed close to his throbbing temples, bursts out_].
Oh.... Oh! Let me stay here just a moment away from that horror.
CAREN [_glancing up from his writing and smiles_]. You're all the same the first day.
KRAIG. Oh.... Oh!
CAREN. That last one got you ... eh?
KRAIG [_bitterly_]. So young ... so young!
CAREN. Must have been a good looker. Much as you can tell the way his face is banged up. I'll bet his own mother wouldn't know him.
KRAIG [_turning aside_]. Don't!
CAREN [_t.i.tters_]. He ... he ... he! Number thirteen...! I hope he ain't superst.i.tious.
KRAIG. He has nothing more to fear.
CAREN [_with dread_]. There's no tellin'.
KRAIG. He's dead.... [_Enviously._] ... Dead!
CAREN [_angry_]. Fool!
KRAIG [_watching through the gla.s.s at the placid figure, enviously_].
Dead!
CAREN [_exasperated_]. Bah!
KRAIG [_suddenly has a hideous thought and turns swiftly to Caren_]. You think it was fair...? He went of his own free will?
CAREN. Eh...? What put that into your head?
KRAIG. No clothes ... naked!
CAREN. A lot of them do that when they take the plunge. It ain't so easy to identify them. It saves a lot of bother, too. We stick 'em on the slabs a while and then....
KRAIG [_shuddering_]. Don't! It makes me cold ... cold! [_Again he parts the curtains and looks through the gla.s.s._] He's so calm ... so still. I wonder if he suffered first! [_With a clutch of hatred in his voice._] I wonder if--he starved!
CAREN. That soft white kitten? Not much. Did you get a squint at his hands? He's never even tied his own tie.
KRAIG [_laughs_]. And he's here!
CAREN [_looking at Kraig_]. This is a funny job for a kid like you to pick.
KRAIG [_turning away_]. I'm not as young as I look. I've got three little ones already. [_With deep anguish._] And another on the way.
CAREN. It's a queer hang out for a kid like you, just the same.
KRAIG [_hysterically, almost beside himself_]. I tell you ... there's another on the way.
